


In Big Red's Lap

by Crescent_Moon_Demon



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Christmas, Comedy, Costumes, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oneshot, Romance, Santa Claus - Freeform, Smut, Sparklings, dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Moon_Demon/pseuds/Crescent_Moon_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santa Claus is coming to the Nemesis... and Tracks wants to have a little fun. Random plot bunnies with some smut for all the good girls and boys for this Christmas, Mech/Mech slash</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Big Red's Lap

**Originally posted on FF.net**

"Oh, Santa...," the corvette cooed, slipping into his lap.

Soundwave swallowed sharply, sinking back into the throne. Unfortunately, the metal backing wouldn't give, and he looked up at Tracks uncertainly. Seductive, blue optics were looking back at him; a lustful smirk fixed on the Autobot's lip components as he shifted closer to the Decepticon. One servo played with the fake beard the communications officer wore; the other picking at the buttons of the Father Christmas costume Soundwave wore.

"I hope you'll be kind to me, Santa," Tracks purred, tone becoming soft and apologetic. But still sexy as slag. "I know I've been a naughty, naughty mech..."

The Decepticon had at first been bored and somewhat annoyed that Megatron had ordered him into this role-play, just to please their sparklings, who'd become utterly fascinated with the Earth custom of Christmas and the gift-giving that went along with it. Of course, it was hard to be aggravated now when he had a charged and handsome 'bot curled into his lap.

"I've tried to be ever so good," his bondmate was saying huskily, leaning in closer, until their faces were just inches apart. Those sapphire orbs sparkled mischievously, increasing the telepath's anxiety... and his desire. "But there's this mech, you see..."

Soundwave flinched when he felt the servo at his chestplates, start to sink lower. "T-tracks," he stuttered hesitantly, "St-status: sp-sparklings p-present..."

The smirk grew a little more, the corvette not sparing even a glance to the little ones standing impatiently at the bottom of the podium. "Oh, I know, Santa," Tracks replied. "But I just want to talk." That devious servo slipped under his belt, and with a speed and skill that stunned Soundwave, retracted his codpiece; warm fingers wrapping tight around his pressurizing spike.

"You see, Santa, I know I've been a really bad 'bot," the corvette whispered along his mouthguard, like the siren's song, "But it's this other mech you see. A big, blue, silent kind of fella. Oh, he makes me behave so naughty..."

The digits were gently tracing the ridges of his spike, the palm moving up and down the length, before a fingertip was toying with the head. Soundwave tried not to squirm too much; muting his vocalizer to prevent any sounds from slipping out.

"He has this thick rod, Santa, that is so hot and hard. Just the sight of it can make anyone faint! And he touches me in so many inappropriate places, like between my thighs. Santa, he's told me such filthy things, like how he loves the way I taste, when his helm is trapped between my legs and he's licking up my dripping valve. Or when I have my lip components spread wide over his spike, as he gets me to suck him off..."

The communications officer rocked a little when the servo slid back down to the base, blunt fingers creating delicious friction as they went. Slowly, Soundwave rested his servos on Tracks' hips, squeezing the metal tightly as he was again struck with another wave of lust.

"And then he makes me do such unthinkable things," that seductive vocalizer was declaring still, "Making me twist and bend in ways I didn't know I could do. Oh, Santa, he makes me scream so much as he fills my valve with his large spike; pounding me again and again and again, until I can't take no more, and I have to be even naughtier to find release."

Tracks wasn't slowly touching him anymore. He was outright pumping Soundwave in quick, evenly paced motions, twisting so that the action was hidden from view from the sparklings, but making it now so that the corvette was straddling the blue mech's lap. The Decepticon wanted to whimper deliriously. His grip tightened on his bondmate's hips, trying so hard not to grind up into the servo working his spike, but unable to stop the response entirely.

Frag, he wanted to shove the Autobot to the floor this very moment, the sparklings be damned, and bury himself completely within the other's tantalizing soft and velvety folds.

Seeing his lover's deteriorating mental state, the corvette grinned even wider, tightening his fist until it was like a vice around the communications officer's slick spike. He really liked this image: Soundwave slowly grinding and squirming beneath his own heating frame; visor dim and unfocused as those large servos clenched and unclenched about his waist. His Big Boy was losing it, that's for sure, and Tracks relished the moment when he would snap entirely.

"But I haven't even told you the worst part, Santa," he continued breathlessly, still keeping to the childish charade. "Even though I know it makes me a bad boy for letting this big, mean Decepticon do such terrible things to me... I can't help but love every second of it. I love being naughty and having my valve all slick and hot with his transfluids, or having his giant servos molesting every inch of my frame. Nothing is better than that sensation of being so wonderfully _wrong_ , Santa."

The fingers were squeezing him tightly again. Tracks gasped a little at the harsh grab, wings fluttering as he felt those golden digits curl slightly around his aft. Any lower and they would be circling the white plating entirely. It was almost as if Soundwave really wanted to tear back his codpiece and plunge his fingers straight into the Autobot's valve.

In retaliation, the corvette increased his tempo, loosening his hold on Soundwave's spike and at the last possible moment clamping down hard at the base; forcing the communications officer to buck back up into his chassis, a strangled whine escaping his systems as his cooling fans roared to life, before he collapsed limply in his chair. Tracks didn't mind. He withdrew his servo from the other's pants, keeping his gaze locked with Soundwave's as he licked every sticky, molten drop of transfluid off from his dirty fingers.

"Oh Santa, I hope this news doesn't keep you from giving me any," he paused, sparing a moment to grind down against the blue mech's pelvic plating, " _Presents_ this year. I can promise you, I've been most deserving of them."

"A-affirmative...," gurgled the Decepticon.

Tracks smiled, finishing his "cleaning" of himself and sliding off of the telepath's lap. "Well, I suppose I should let the others have a turn now," he declared coyly. "I await my presents Santa!" And with a sway of his sexy hips, he skipped down the podium and out of the room.

"Finally!," NovaDash, Megatron's heir, growled. "I thought that Autobot floozy would never leave. I still haven't even told Santa everything I want for christmas yet." The black and magenta sparkling pulled out a datapad, scrolling through the massive list to the last place he left off at.

Splice, a thin, nearly unamoured youngling shook his helm, blinking his three optics at the other sparkling. "I wouldn't bother trying to accost Santa for any of your demands this moment," he advised, in the same cultured tone that his sire spoke with. "I don't believe Santa is yet fit to see anyone. I believe our dearest Autobot Aunt has left him in a fluster..."

And indeed, Soundwave was still sunken in his chair, a pile of satisfied goo.

Rumble and Frenzy glanced at each other worriedly. "Daddy won't be happy when he finds out that Santa Claus likes mommy a lot...," they muttered under their intakes. NovaDash spat in contempt, crossing his arms over his chestplates as he grumbled on about eccentric mechs.


End file.
